(Started an RP of this...didn't get far. So I decided to just start making it into a story. Please tell me what chya think)

How do you sleep at night knowing that a helpless life has been taken? Taken…by your own hands…

The hum of the engine and the smooth trembling of the car is enough to put one asleep. But as the person designated to keep mom awake, I must shake all feelings of fatigue away.

“You’re not going to cause an accident, are you?” I wonder aloud.

“Bridget. Were you even listening to me?” My mother, Elaine, sighs heavily. She is indicating the fact of words had already been spewing out of her mouth before I had even asked the question. I suppose zoning out is a talent of mine.

I glance at her for only a moment. She returns the smile but doesn’t look at me. I can see her faint reflection in the driver’s window. A beautiful woman in her late thirties, it was clear that she had been much prettier in her youth.

Then, I move my view back to the road. It seemed to endlessly stretch out before us. A pathway of fate, one that had chosen to kill of many.

Our golden eyes never met. My guess is she didn’t dare to bring her attention in any other direction but forward.

Her hands squeeze the leather patched steering wheel. She is being cautious, as we had just bought this blue Mini Cooper two weeks ago.

“Yeah. Of course I was listening to you.” I mumble the lie. My head now rests against the burning passenger window. Grumbling slightly, I peer to the side and watch as cars are nothing but blurs of color. It was starting to make me feel sick. Or maybe it’s this heat?

With swift movements, I crank the AC up. Outside temperatures are reaching a lovely hundred degrees this fine summer day. A Saturday to be exact, and a long one at that. Being out of school was already quite the bore. I enjoyed my time in classes, especially since both teachers and students adore me. There isn’t one person in the school that I don’t know.

Pinpricks of stars are finally coming through against a darkened background. Glistening dots of glory, each one brings a smile upon my rounded face.

My mother licks a tan finger before slicking back a loose strand of blonde hair. Sure, I had gotten her eyes, but not her golden locks. No, I am stuck with my dad’s pitch black hair. The curls always remain loose on my slender shoulders, rolling smoothly with every movement.

There’s an audible clank as we reach the overpass. From here it will be less than ten minutes before we get home. Then mom and I can do our daily round of Scrabble or Monopoly. Either way, victory shall be mine.

“What…happened?” I croak, finding my own voice unrecognizable. My eyes feel like they are glued shut, and I have to use all of my strength to pry them open. What I see…I wish I never would have… the Mini Cooper is rolled onto its side. Well, whatever side remained. It is smashed against the road, now looking like half of a car.

I must have been thrown out of the car by at least forty feet. I can’t tell. Vision is completely lost in my left eye. Not to mention, everything is starting to become dull. And cold. Damn. When did it suddenly become thirty below…

The world tilts beneath me, and I roll my head back to release a groan. My entire left side doesn’t listen to any given command. Warm liquid seeps between my lips, dripping to the pavement below with the quietest of pitter patters.

Colorful blobs suddenly become detailed figures. Paramedics hover over me, grasping onto those strange things. I just remember seeing those in movies, where the doctor shouts CLEAR! But never did I think one would be…used on me? It was…used on me.

“Mom!” I gasp, my chest heaving as I claw at the ground. But only with my right hand. The other one remains stationary. Paralyzed. “Where’s my mom!?” I could feel the terror tear its way out of my burning lungs.

Before I could say anymore, my eyes slide over to spot an extremely tall figure. A long white cloak is draped over his very thing figure. The face is blacked out as the hood is pulled over the head.

It must stand over eight feet tall…if not more…how could something be that tall?

The figure in white is makings its way towards the destroyed vehicle.

“MOM!” I scream, trying to get up. But only one leg works. “MOM!” I give another attempt.

“Relax. We’re going to get you to a hospital.” One man says.

“NO!” I yell at him, feeling the different emotions boil and overflow. Rage. Sadness. Greif. Joy of still being alive…yet disappointed somehow… then there was a boost of adrenaline.

With more effort than anticipated, I begin to drag myself towards the half car. The distance was farther than I had earlier guessed. But I keep going, using one arm to pull myself. Paramedics stand back, frozen in their places.

I pass through the robed figure, a chill creeping up my spine. But I ignore it. I ignore all pain that dwells throughout my broken body. Broken mind.

I stop ten feet away from the vehicle. My body sinks back into the ground as I can see my mom through a demolished window.

The scent of blood is strong enough to taste. The buds on my tongue hiss with disgust.

Nobody comes to my side. One sight of her mutilated body was probably more than enough for them. My paralyzed body refuses to give any more movement, cursing me to continue looking at her.

Hair, once like the sun, is already grayed and thinning. Her eyes are wide and glazed over, pale with the hue of death. Once tan skin is now a papery pigment. She has more shards of glass protruding out of her body than humanly possible. Both arms are crumpled into mangled masses, dislocated at the shoulders. Her head bleeds like crazy and I gag. Each droplet of red that plummets to the road makes me wince.

“I’m Death, not life.” The figure says. A voice that is low and smooth with a rough edge to it. He spoke calmly, almost monotone. Each and every word coiled through my mind, nearly melting my thoughts. But he is still not considered man.

After regaining my composure, I tell him: “I’ll do anything.”

The Paramedics stare at me. They couldn’t see him, that much is clear.

“Agree to be my assistant and I shall bring your mother back to life. A life for a life…in a different way.” He responds in a new emotion. There was a spark to his voice, an amusement of sorts.

I stutter, unable to answer. Instead, I give a subtle nod.

“You are different from others of your kind. You haven’t crossed over to my side, yet you’re able to see me. Hear me…touch me.” He adds. I am assuming no one else has done so before.

“What…am I supposed to do?” I ask, almost afraid to.

“You’ll know when the time comes.” He says, getting up to full height. As much as I tried not to, I felt intimidated.

I could feel myself tremble as something suddenly forms in his skeletal hands. A scythe…something so horrifyingly beautiful. The black blade and golden staff glisten in the moonlight. The menacing aura that emits off it increases suddenly.

“Bridget Davenport. From now on you shall be The Grim Reaper’s assistant.”

Rain comes down like millions of merciless needles. My pale skin had started off freezing, then burning.

Now, I am numb.

I flutter my lashes to flick water away from my eyes. My eyes…what strange things they are. The right is a brilliant gold while the left remains a hazy gray. Whether I am truly blind in that optic or not will remain a mystery to everyone but me.

It is already nearly impossible to see with the surrounding downpour. To make the situation worse, the sun is unable to produce any light, as the clouds are obscuring the orb. But from experience, I know school is only another block away.

My sneakers squeak as I slide them on the linoleum flooring of the school hallway. On either side of me are windows that replace the walls. Why they decided to compose the building of mostly glass is beyond me. How hazardous that is if there were ever a tornado…I can’t even begin to think of it.

I trudge to locker 333, and fumble with the stainless steel lock. I jump as a fist punches the locker before I can fully open it.

There’s the tickle of someone’s breath against the nape of my neck. The cold of it makes my hair rise and bring forth goose bumps.

“Marcus.” I snarl. He slams his, tan, lean yet muscular body against the locker beside mine. That smug look on his well matured and handsome face makes me want to pummel him. My eyes rest on the football jacket, the faded red leather sleeves cracking.

“Why didn’t you come cheer us on last night? I mean, you’re looking pretty fine today. Last night you probably would have dressed even better.” He gives a playful laugh and runs a large hand through neatly trimmed, chocolate brown hair.

My eyes drop to look at my clothes. I am soaking wet, the white V-neck shirt suctioned against me like another layer of skin. But I was smart enough to wear a green camisole beneath it. My turquoise athletic shorts are already starting to dry.

Despite my personality, I prefer to wear color. Always have and always will.

“I don’t like watching little boys in tights and padding smashing into one another for a ball.” I say flatly, opening my locker.

Marcus, like me, is a senior in high school. He has been with just about every girl in this school, even the younger ones. Well, that is, except for me.

As Marcus walks away, he releases a booming laugh. The sound of his military boots colliding with solid ground begins to fade until it is no longer audible.

I bite my lower lip and look at the rectangular mirror in my locker. Those full, pink and glossy lips that are considered irresistible. Those lips that had almost been kissed by a stranger last year. But I had knocked him out before that could happen.

Today I have my hair pulled into a thickly curled pony tail. The nearly perfect bangs remain loose and cover my dark brows like a curtain.

I have been told numerous times that I should go into modeling. Not only for my body but for my face.

After pulling two hulking books out of my locker, I use my foot to close it and whirl around before heading off to class.

I hate school…with a passion.

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I am too busy zoning out to listen to today’s Anatomy lesson. My eyes slide to the corners, where they get the best view of the outer world. I am glad to be sitting by the massive window, meaning easier access to daydreaming.

But that’s quickly interrupted. Not by an external voice, but an inner.

‘Bridget. There’s someone about a mile away from your school who passed away not even two minutes ago. I’m busy at the moment, taking care of about a thousand other deaths, and have decided that you’re not getting enough action lately.’ HE says through damned telepathy. I’ve been stuck listening to his voice in my head for three years now. I have yet to actually see him again…

‘Can do Mr. Reap.’ I respond through thought, not wanting to seem like a freak and say it aloud.

There is no reply, and I take that as an okay.

Sighing under my breath, I rise and lift a hand up. “Bathroom.”

“Make it quick.” The Anatomy teacher, Mrs. Mitchel, states. Her exotic green eyes stare at me for a moment. She then waves the pen in her hand towards me, and then at the door.

I give a subtle nod before striding out of the classroom, letting the door close on its own.

One second I am walking down the vacant hallway, the next I disperse into thin air.

I stare at myself in the full body mirror. I had teleported to my room, where I feel the most comfortable doing the change.

With swift swipe of my hands against the air, a scythe forms before me. As it comes down from the air, I grab it and eye the massive weapon with a slight frown.

The staff part is white while the blade is golden, and all up the handle are black straps with golden buckles.

What a glorious yet hideous weapon this is, a shame that it only harms those nearing death. Grim has told me that it’s possible to harm the living with it….but I really don’t want to do that.

The blade pulsates, and I am suddenly shrouded in a veil of shadowy darkness. Once it disperses, the clothes in my reflection are different. More unique, if anything.

Grim had been the one to decide my attire for this job, and had even designed the scythe to be based off my apparel.

I wear an all-white cloak, just like Reaper does. But mine is tattered at the ends - and shorter, and I prefer to wear the hood down instead of over my face. Unlike Grim, who likes to hide his face.

Only those who are on the brink of death can see me in this form, so I don’t need a mask or anything. But, I do pull my hair out of the pony tail, allowing the curls to freely fall down my shoulders and back.

The front of the cloak stops at my bare belly button, and the back falls just past my butt. The right sleeve is torn off, while the left one goes down to my elbow. I also wear white leggings, which stop right below my knees.

My knee-high boots are also snowy colored, but they have black straps with golden buckles that go all the way up them; the bottoms of the boots are also black.

I wear white, fingerless, gloves that only cover my hands, but there are black straps that crisscross at the palms, the golden buckle is placed in the center of the palm – where the two straps cross.

Even Grim has called me attractive, though he had only seen me like this on the first day…

That wretched day…the day I vowed to destroy him…destroy him for what he had made me do...

…what he turned me into....

But yet, there is a part of me that is proud. Proud of this newfound power. And my power increases with the scythe, giving me all sorts of “fun” abilities.

I glide down the sidewalk, holding the scythe in one hand and keeping it at my side. With a sharp left, I walk straight through the crowd of people and onto the street. Not caring to stop and think if there might be a ghostly person, the cars zoom right through me. I don’t feel an ounce of pain, only some frustration and annoyance.

When I make it to the other side of the road, my scythe begins to glow. My eyes flicker with the silver aura, and a frown forms upon my delicate face. They are close…

I make my way into the old brick apartment. It is evident that the red bricks used to be more vibrant and well kept.

Slowly and quietly, I close the door behind me and glance from side to side. The hall is empty, and very quiet. Too quiet. How cliché.

It’s clear that there is a pool somewhere in this building. The smell of chlorine fills the vicinity, bringing some memories with it: Faces, all smiling. Laughter echoes as children race out of the pool and towards their parents. My mother, her arms spread wide as I grasp her in a tight embrace, uncaring that I was sopping with water.

I quickly shake my head, knocking all of those images away and locking them up.

Steadily, I stride over to the staircase. The wooden boards hidden under matted peach carpet creaks beneath my weight. I may have the ability to become invisible to those not on the brink of death, and to pass through things, but when it comes to most inanimate objects those rules don’t apply – except for vehicles, for some odd reason.

After reaching the top step, I take another look around. A teenage house keeper is working on one of the farthest rooms from me. He leans against the open room doorway, paying more attention to his iPod than the job of cleaning.

Just like the rest of them, he can’t see me.

I roll my eyes, and continue my way down the second floor hallway. As I get farther towards the end, the burgundy wallpaper starts to become more of a gray. Even the once lush carpet suddenly turns out to be more knotted on this side. It’s solid beneath my feet instead of plushy.

I slow my pace down before coming to a full stop, and turning my entire body. Intently, I stare at the door, scanning it up and down. My eyes trace each and every scratch and splinter. “Room 14. Huh, one away from my all-time favorite number. Shame.”

Squinting slightly, I take a step closer to the door. Though this part of the hall is darker, a miniature window near the ceiling still brings in splices of early afternoon sunlight. They strike me and blind me. But they do not give me warmth of any sort.

My clothed fingers curl around the rusting painted silver knob, and I hesitate to turn it. I always wonder: What could have happened to this person? Heart attack is the likeliest of things. I’ve dealt with many of those recently.

As the door swings open, the first thing I do is feel for a light switch. But I recoil away as my fingers touch something wet.

Lights flicker to life, revealing the apartment room. A nicely sized one at that, with a kitchenette and tiny living room.

As my view skims from corrner to corner, space to space, I begin to think that I might have to take a look around the entire area.

But my scanning is brought to an immediate halt as I stare straight ahead.

I’ve seen gruesome scenes. Multiple of them.

But this…this…

My eyes widen to twice their size as I stagger back, feeling my already pale skin become an even sicker tone.

As much as I would like to go running to my mom or dad and cry my eyes out in front of them, and silently beg for their comfort… I cannot.

Unable to be heard by anyone….my blood-curdling scream rips my lungs and tears apart the atmosphere.

I cup a hand over my mouth to silence myself. It also helped to hold back today’s breakfast. I’m now glad that I hadn’t gotten the chance to eat lunch, especially since it would have been from the school.

“What the hell.” I shudder, taking a cautious step inside, but don’t bother to close the door behind me. “What the hell happened?”

I really wanted to know how no one heard anything. Or smelled anything for that matter. The aroma is equivalent to that of rotting meat.

I try my hardest to avoid the mess. Lying on moldy tile flooring are chunks of what used to be a whole human.

“Alright, I just want to get this damn job over with.” I exhale, trying to keep the scent out of my nostrils. This air is not something I’d like entering my lungs.

I tighten my grip on the scythe, and twist my wrist just the slightest. “Come out come out wherever you are~” I call out in a singing tone.

Out of nowhere, a faint image of a person appears. An older and more fragile looking woman, who seems beyond terrified. The body’s soul. Or, what is left of that body.

She has very thin and wiry hair, which must be more of an auburn color – which match her eyes perfectly.

“Wh-who are you?” She stutters, wringing her hands together as a show of nervousness.

“I’m here to pass you onto the next life. It will take less than a second, and there is absolutely no pain.” I explain, fixing my gloves and flicking some hair behind my shoulder.

“You’re not going to ask what happened to me!?” She suddenly sounds upset. “I was murdered! B-by”

I cut her off right there.

“Not a part of my job. Damn, I don’t even care what your name is. That’s all for Grim to deal with, and the officials. And I am neither of those. So keep that in mind for next ti – whoops. There won’t be a next time.” I put on my best smile before swiping at her with my scythe. The blade cuts her in half, and she can only gasp before bursting into a glowing light.

With that, I exit the apartment room and make my way back down the hall. The teenage house keeper is still messing with his iPod, bobbing his head to whatever rhythm there must be in his head.

With a content sigh I stretch out on the lounge chair and throw my hands behind my head. As soon as I had returned home and changed back into the human me, I went to the back yard. It’s nicely sized, and fenced in – to add more privacy as the neighbors do question how a 17 year old is living on their own.

The grass was recently mowed, by yours truly. And not to mention, I even keep the stone pathway that leads to the fence’s gate well-kept and organized.

Heat from the sun’s rays makes me feel like a burn is going to be unavoidable. But tanning is impossible for me, seeing as I just roast.

I had decided to just skip the rest of school...since that woman's soul gave me a migraine.

I had been Grim’s assistant for a year. But I was still getting used to some of my newfound powers. The powers that had saved my life, but took my mom’s.

Grim had just contacted me about a job. I teleported to the area of the accident as soon as he used his telepathy communication.

It was a construction site, and right away I knew something was terribly wrong.

I made my way through the incomplete building. I didn’t really know why, but my feet were so heavily, making my movements slowed.

I didn’t take my time to admire the professional architectural works.

As I travelled deeper into the building, the darker it got. I also had to maneuver around to avoid silver chains that hang from the ceiling.

“Wonder what those are for.” I whisper to myself, knocking one out of my path. I listen to it strike another, and wince.

My scythe starts to act up, giving me the coordinates to the person. It was like a personal GPS that threw navigations into my head.

But soon enough, I was staring at my father. He struggled to break free from the chains that strangled him. They are coiled around his neck and chest, so his right arm is tucked awkwardly at his side. His bulging blue eyes rest on me, begging for help. But it was too late. He could see me, and only those near death could do that.

Even if I helped him, he would pass away soon after.

But I couldn’t help but try. It was like an instinct to do so.

With panic evident, I tore at the chains. I cried, sobbed, told him everything would be okay. Lied to both him and myself.

When he weakened, my efforts went with his strength. I let the scythe fall out of my hand, and let it clank against the cement. Then, I had crumpled to my knees.

My dad let out one last gargled cry before going limp. The tips of his toes hovered inches away from the ground.

‘Bridget, you have a job to do. Now finish it.’ Grim finally speaks up, his voice a foreign thing in my once personal mind.

“NO!” I screamed aloud. No one could hear me any way. “I WON’T! I WON’T! NOT AGAIN!”

But my arm suddenly moved against my will. The fingers of my right hand curl around the scythe’s staff, grasping onto it tightly. I was lifted onto my feet by an invisible force. The tears remained frozen in the corners of my eyes.

“Please. Please no. Please.” I shook my head repeatedly.

Against my pleas, I strike my father with the scythe. The menacing blade goes right through him, not dealing any physical damage. Not that any human could see. But I saw it clearly.

His soul ruptured and turned into a brilliantly white light before dispersing into nothingness.

That was when I definitely knew that Grim was serious about his job…and the job I would be holding for as long as the contract that binds me to him is around…

I had been at the library to return my books, when it started to rain – which is usual around here.

Now, I find myself walking through sleet and heavy rains to try and get home as quickly as possible.

The trip to the library had been a relaxing and calm one. But now it’s different, and what should be a mile will suddenly feel like two.

To top it off: There is someone following me.

I increase my speed to try and lose the old red truck, but it matches my actions and is quick to catch up. Finally giving up, I come to a stop and the pickup does the same.

My eyes follow the window as it rolls down, revealing a young man leaning away from the driver’s side to get closer to the passenger window.

“Hey. Do you want a ride?” He asks me. I can now tell that he is older than me.

“College?” Is my first response.

“College?” He seems confused for a bit before his mouth forms a small ‘o’. With a short chuckle, he looks back at me. “Yeah. College. But I’m in town for the next two months to spend time with the family. High school?”

“Yeah.” I nod, and continue walking.

“Hey!” He shouts, catching back up. “Come on. I’m not going to touch you. Promise. If I do or you feel like I will, you can go right ahead and call the police.”

I arch an eyebrow at his statement, and then sigh. The drizzle was quickly becoming a downpour, with hail here and there. In a couple of minutes, the storm would worsen. And I didn’t like the thoughts of walking through that, especially since my house is still another mile away.

“I have my cell phone ready.” I scold, giving him a death glare before swinging the passenger door open. He scoots back over to his side of the vehicle and buckles up before placing the car in park and keeping his foot against the brake.

He gives a hearty laugh, glancing over at me as I hoist myself into the vehicle and onto the worn out seat. I reach out, take hold of the door, and close it. But the wind takes it, slamming the door with more force than I would have liked. Startled, I am knocked over.

When I open my eyes, I am looking up at him. I realize my head is on his lap.

Quickly, I sit up. But my forehead smacks into the bottom of the steering wheel. I still manage to get over to my side of the truck, where I grumble in frustration.

“Hey, you okay?” He is trying his hardest not to burst out laughing. I can tell by that look on his face. The quivering lips that curl into a hidden smile. The way his warming hazel eyes shimmer.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” I hiss between my teeth, and buckle up. The vehicle jolts before moving forward. I look at him again, trying to keep the embarrassment from showing. “What are you, a cowboy?”

He wears a mildly colored plaid, long sleeved, shirt. It’s partially unbuttoned to show off a section of a tan and broad chest. His blue jeans are somewhat faded, stained with splotches of dirt on the knees. To top it off are a pair of intricately designed cowboy boots.

He only looks at me from the corners of his eyes, a playful smile TOO perfect on that matured face of his; yet, the cheeks are somewhat rounded to end with a broad chin. He has what appears to be the start of a beard, but is just a thin layer of hair from sideburn to side burn. It covers most of under his jaw. Then it’s the same thing with what should be a moustache, and a section under his lip. It’s almost as dark as his brown hair, which appears blacker in this lighting.

As the girls at school would say “He’s not hot like Marcus, but damn sexy.”

Those thoughts make me roll my eyes.

“Possibly. That’s for me to know and you to find out.” He snickers. “And what are you? Checking me out?” He questions, making me scowl.

“No way.” I retort, sneering at him.

“Alright alright. I think we’ve started off pretty bad here. I’ll start things like they should be.” He then clears his throat. “Hello. My name is Duncan Pryce. First year in college. You are?”

“Bridget Davenport.” Is my flat response. “Third year in high school.”

I’m hoping that he wasn’t going to say he had heard of me on the news three years ago. The car accident had been all over television. Throughout half of the country had seen it. Even on YouTube there is footage that someone had captured…I couldn’t watch it…I would never be able to.